


Absence makes the heart grow fonder

by R0BIN



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1809, 1814, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon names not used, DenNor, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Independence, M/M, Nordic 5 - Freeform, Siblings, SuFin, aph denmark - Freeform, aph finland, aph iceland, aph nordics - Freeform, aph norway - Freeform, aph sweden, treaty of kiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18920092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R0BIN/pseuds/R0BIN
Summary: Throughout the wars of history, empires and nations may rise and fall but what is left behind can be hard to deal with for both the victors and the losers. After the Treaty of Kiel was signed and the Finnish war came to a close, Northern Europe was left shattered and fragmented with brother turning on brother.This extended to even the nations themselves as they find themselves parted with the ones they love as a result of each other’s actions.





	1. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Aph Iceland = Kristjan  
> Aph Norway = Sindre  
> Aph Finland = Vaino  
> Aph Denmark = Magnus  
> Aph Sweden = Alexander  
> The names have been changed to honour some really brilliant friends!

A stream of pale light entered the library that afternoon, it was the first time in a while the sun had managed to peak above the crest of clouds lining the skies. It was pleasant, Alexander thought, despite it lacking much warmth to it. Even on those rare days when the sun was shining, he would hide himself away in either his study or the library in the eastern wing of the palace, avoiding any prying eyes that sort him out for discussion. For the past few years this had become his home, much to his distaste. However, he was obligated to remain there for as long as his King saw fit. Feeling like a prisoner in his own home, but he wasn’t a prisoner, he wasn’t alone – and at least he was home.  
Casting his mind back, his glassy eyes rolled back behind his lids, as though he were entering a trance, his senses clouded, he could feel himself there once again. Sweaty palms, a racing heart, and the same overwhelming feeling of slowly being suffocated. The air being too dense to breath, sinking to the bottom of his heavy lungs, and any noise seemed to be muffled by a blanket. He felt it all the same as he did the first time.  
Alexander remembered staring across that field, looking directly at the lines of men, standing shoulder to shoulder, inches apart from one another, their coal coloured coats seemed to blend together to create a smudge across the horizon, their rifles held close to their bodies, that had been their lifeline.  
How could he forget that picture when that was the day he felt as though he had lost everything?  
It’s wrong what they say; your mind does not block out those sour memories of your past. It keeps them alive, playing them over like a recording, it will haunt you if the memory is potent enough. Time was no healer to him. Alexander played the scene over in his mind, bit by bit, every moment so detailed, it was etched in his mind for as long as he let it plague him.  
He had walked forward, his grip loosening on his rifle as he let it drop to the ground, the earth had been churned up before him by the constant bombardment and assaults, it was treacherous enough to navigate in the blind daylight compared to when he was under a blanket of smoke that had caused many of his men to tumble into ditches, fighting to recover their footing with their boots caked in mud.  
War was ugly, that was the truth of it. All of the poems written, the songs sung, even the stories that had been woven to please the ears of children, it was all fictitious nonsense. Dressing war up as a noble quest for glory, a fight between good and evil, all of it was just a series of lies to try and justify the result. It was not about right and wrong, it was about who was left behind.  
During this recollection it finally struck him how deeply it must have wounded, if not destroyed Magnus, to watch this same scene unfold because he too, like Alex, was powerless when they had lost. Yet, to this day he still felt no sympathy towards the Dane, nor resentment. It was only a numbness that remained, and an inability to feel anything at all towards someone like him who had allied himself with Alexander’s enemy, a man who took everything from him, and in turn the Dane had everything taken from him.  
He remembered drawing closer to the lines of men opposite him on the field, with each step he took it became easier to distinguish their individual faces, noting how they all wore the same stoic expression that edged more towards hostility than a military nonchalance. Stopping a couple of feet away from the line, he lifted his head to meet the eyes of the man he would grow to despise, the person that was also powerless with regards to the decisions of his rulers but, nonetheless, seemed to find a secret joy in seeing others being built up and knocked back down. Throwing his hands up in the air, he let his shoulders fall in defeat.  
“We concede…. We want no more bloodshed, you have won.”  
Had he known that those words would hang over him for the rest of his years then perhaps he would not have said them, at least not so feebly. Perhaps Alexander should have fallen like the rest of his men on the battlefield and then he would not have had to face the shame of it.  
“Good” was the reply.  
Brief he had thought. Of course, it would have been brief coming from a man that was now the victor and could indulge in the habit of exercising his power with so few words. It was what powerful men seemed to enjoy doing. Letting their inferiors hang on every word, desperate for some indication of what their next move may be.  
Remembering the scene, no matter how many times over, still made his cheeks grow hot and his eyes sting with unshed tears, it was raw emotion that he had since struggled to contain.  
Ivan had ordered Alexander to follow him into peace negotiations, to sign the treaties presented before him and truly hold up on his word when he claimed that he wanted ‘no more bloodshed’. It was not only a test of his patience but also an overall test of his character. He had broken on that day. He lost everything.  
Everything being the person he loved.

His eyes flickered open followed by a sharp intake of breath as he winced at the stream of sunlight pouring into the library through a small window by one of many bookcases, its path directly crossing his vision. A clear and composed voice cut through the silence, its owner standing by the door to the hallway with his back resting against it, completely at his ease.  
“Falling asleep in the middle of the day? It’s a wonder how someone like you can sleep with a conscience as heavy as yours”  
The shadow of a bookcase was cast over Sindre’s figure, but Alexander could still make out those distinct indigo eyes hiding beneath the stray strands of blonde hair that fell before his face. They were cold and hostile, just as they had been the day he was forced to come to Stockholm, not much had changed at all since then.  
For the first few years that he had been living in the city, in the same house, day-to-day life had been difficult for the both of them. Not only because of the emotional turmoil they were both going through, but also because of the reluctance, on both sides, for them to conform to the formal routines laid out before them.  
“You would not believe…” Alex replied, his tone bitter and harsh.  
Sindre stood there, swallowed up by a silent fury once hearing the other’s response. He had been brought to Stockholm against his will by this man, his hopes of freedom dashed by a simple piece of paper that he had not even been given any say in. He had felt like cattle that day, ushered away from the ones he loved by men who spoke in a foreign tongue and cared too little to even listen to his words of objection.  
This man sat opposite from him was not only guilty of taking Sindre away from his lover, but also his little brother. A child that, at the time, had relied on him for both protection and guidance. He was not just a brother to Kristjan, but also the closest thing he had to a parental figure. Now he could only lay awake at night and wish for the day that he would be with him again, to tell him that things were okay, and he had nothing to fear. He could not dream anymore, dreams were for those fortunate enough to sleep, the lucky ones that either had nothing to worry over or the ones whose consciences were so silent that their hearts did not hang heavy with guilt at night when they were alone with their thoughts.  
Sindre had played no direct part in this struggle for power and dominance between Sweden and Denmark, yet it was him who would have to suffer as a result of their own actions.  
Even now, however, he would not reign himself to being a pawn in their game. He had asserted that he would have to be taken by force if he was to enter into this union and he would still, bow to no one.  
“You speak with such venom, Alexander, yet I see no reason for it. You are still in your own home, with your own king, living by your own laws. What reason could you possibly have to be so discontent?” he posed, stepping out from the shadows he had concealed himself in and towards Alexander, his fingers delicately tracing the curve of a table that stood in the centre of the library.  
When he received no reply from the Swede, he perched himself on the window ledge, gazing out towards the courtyard, letting out a hushed sigh of exasperation.  
“Do you not feel guilt at all? Knowing that no matter what course of action you take you will never fill that hole in your heart that he once filled?”  
Sindre glanced back towards the other, his expression unwavering. It was times like this when he looked out of one of the many windows in the palace and saw the setting sun, that he wondered if his brother and his lover were looking up and watching the same sunset.  
“Sometimes….” Alex breathed, his eyes remained fixed on the floor as he had not the heart to look into Sindre’s eyes and tell him that he was sorry or that he felt no remorse for his actions.  
The response did nothing to quell the other’s feelings of resentment and the Norwegian found himself to be immediately irritated by the apparent lack of care in Alexander’s words.  
“You took me away from my family out of spite, you did it because you thought that if you should have to suffer then it is worth making others suffer as well” he scorned, his eyes burning with an unspoken fury. Any conversation which they shared seemed to be a tedious and polemical affair at the best of times. At the worst of times, their conversations would spiral into fierce arguments where a torrent of insults would be thrown at one another’s character and it usually resulted in one, if not both, of them storming off to brood in opposite wings of the palace for weeks on end.  
“I did it because I lost everything, yes. And the person that took everything away from me was a man that your lover supported.”  
“’Took everything away’? Alexander, Vaino was never yours, you say you loved him, but it is clear that you denied him the same freedom that I tried to fight for. Say his name. Show me that you recognise him as more than your own.”  
Standing up abruptly, Alexander stormed towards the door, an outstretched hand frantically grasping for the handle. He couldn’t take it, Sindre’s words were burning a hole in his heart, searing hot and full of poison. Had they not rung true then perhaps he would not have attempted to flee so he could dwell on his losses elsewhere, where no one would be there to judge him but his own conscience. The truth hurt, just as much as a memory.  
Sindre dashed forward, a fraction faster than Alexander, and pressed his back against the door to prevent him from leaving, his chest heaving from the sudden movement.  
“Don’t be a coward Alex. Look me in the eyes, don’t run, don’t flee, you have been running for the past five years and look where this has gotten you!” he exclaimed.  
Narrowing his eyes, Alexander tried to maintain his stoic façade but to no avail, his lip quivered, and his eyes grew red, it was an uncomfortable atmosphere for the both of them. Sindre had elicited the reaction he had hoped for, that being that he wanted to see this man before him show some sign of feeling, but he had not anticipated that this would have turned into a display of uncontrollable emotion where both would be reduced to tears.  
“Now you know how it feels, to be parted from the man you love because neither of you were strong enough to stop it. I look out of that window every day and think about him, I never sleep because, you are right, my conscience won’t allow it. My only consolation is knowing that Magnus will feel the same. That is justice”  
He made another attempt at prying the door open, his fingers wrapping around the brass doorknob and yanking at it with all of the strength he could muster. The wood hit Sindre’s back with a sharp thud and the Norwegian winced but remained steadfast, he was a man who could not be moved.  
“That is not justice, that is an act of spite. I had nothing to do with your quarrel between yourself and Magnus, yet here I am, trapped in this place, with a man that does nothing but wallow in self-pity – “ he grabbed a hold of the swede’s sleeve, tugging his hand away from the door “And what of my brother? He is all alone in this world now because of your selfish actions. Kristjan is still a child! Tell me how this is fair Alexander”  
Without another word, Alexander pulled on the door and forced it open, taking off into the labyrinth of hallways to find a room far enough away from the scene so that he could release his feelings in private.  
The door slammed shut behind him and Sindre was left all alone again, his shoulder aching from the confrontation, nonetheless he found some relief in finally voicing his feelings.  
Throughout the entire ordeal he had managed to remain relatively cold and collected, only breaking character once the situation grew desperate, his ability to maintain a stony façade was one of the few things that unnerved the Swede as Sindre well knew.  
When people ponder over the question ‘what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object’ then they may only dream and think about the different outcomes, but for the pair residing in Stockholm palace, the outcome seemed to be consistently bleak and destructive.  
Sindre dragged his feet back towards the sill where he sat himself, placing a cold hand against the pane, and feeling a lingering sense of warmth in the glass from the sun that was just dipping below the horizon. The sky that evening was painted with hues of gold and red, the rich colours of kings and royalty, and cast a warm light across the city making it appear to be glowing like an idle flame. He wondered if Magnus was looking at this same sunset with Kristjan, thinking the same thing that Sindre did; that he could not wait for this separation to end. For now, he could only continue his silent protest and hope that Alexander would eventually give some ground and allow himself and those around him to heal and let themselves love again.

Sindre couldn’t have been closer to the truth.  
Stood by the edge of the docks in Copenhagen with the waves lapping at their feet, was the pair that had been left behind, the remains of loss and war. They had been left alone, clinging to each other, seeking solace in one another’s company and shared longing for the presence that they were deprived of, it was an unusual bond, but it was unbreakable.  
Kristjan squeezed the other’s hand softly, feebly, it was for comfort rather than to release any pain he felt building up inside him. ‘Don’t cry’ he had told himself ‘Sindre would be disappointed in me if I cried’. Despite his chidings, his cheeks still grew wet and he pressed his sleeve to his face to wipe any evidence away, but Magnus had already become aware of Kristjan’s distress.  
Reaching down, he scooped the child up in his arms and held him by his hip, tenderly trying to push the strands of white hair away from Kristjan’s damp cheeks.  
“It’s going to be okay Kris” he murmured, a saddened smile taking a hold of his features. “He’ll come back to us very soon I promise you”  
“Soon feels like an eternity…” Kristjan replied, turning his gaze away from the setting sun and burying his face in the fabric of Magnus’s shirt, his fingers curling around the material as tightly as possible, fearing that if he should let go then he would lose him too.


	2. A Memory So Strong

The soft and muffled sound of footsteps in the snow travelled through the forest, everything seemed to lay dormant and sleeping, save for the wind, which never seemed to cease for a moment. Vaino hooked a finger under the collar of his sweater and pulled it closer to his chin, trying to conserve some remaining body heat, his honey brown eyes flickering from the snow beneath his feet up towards the cabin in the distance.  
Nestled away, hiding in a shroud of fir trees, was his home – at least for part of the year. A small cabin with distressed timber walls and a roof on the brink of caving in, something that looked as though it had been abandoned and left to waste away in the forest. He had the choice to live elsewhere, in grander residence, or even sacrifice his dignity to live beside a man he loathed so he could live a life of luxury.  
His morals would be damned if he ever agreed to it.  
No quantity of gold would be enough to buy his silence and compliance, having lived most of his life being a territory and therefore seen as a prize by his two neighbours, he had learnt that it was better to retain your character and beliefs rather than sacrifice them for the approval of the person who believed they ruled over you. Kings would rise and fall so Vaino thought it best not to let the life of one King alter the character of one nation, he would always outlive them anyway.  
It had been ten years and even now he hadn’t grown used to the routine of living half of his in his homeland and the other half by the side of his enemy in St Petersburg, being forced to stay under his watchful eye for six months at a time. What made it worse was knowing that even when he was allowed to return home in the winter, he still wasn’t permitted to cross the western border without the permission of Ivan.  
They liked to think that they kept him on a relatively long leash, so he would not stray too far and risk never coming back, but he let them believe what they liked, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing him object so they could take power in denying him his wishes.  
He hurriedly tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat after another gust of wind came over him, the cold nipping at his skin causing him to shiver, being a cold nation didn’t necessarily mean he was immune to it, he was still in some sense human. The cabin was only a couple of metres away at that point and he looked forward to changing his clothes and warming up, sheltering away before another blizzard swept up the landscape around him. It had been a long journey home for him, from St Petersburg back to his home just outside of Kajaani, and as much as he would have loved to take his time, he did find the weather to be a slight bother to him.  
Once making it inside he kicked off his snowy boots and unbuttoned his jacket that he had been forced to wear, much to his disdain, which bore the Russian imperial crest, smiling in relief at the thought that he was no longer under such a close and watchful eye.  
Humming softly to himself, he fumbled with a small box of matches that he had retrieved from his pockets, his fingers still numb and clumsy from the cold. After striking a match he tossed it into the small pile he had made from wood and cotton wool, his hazel eyes glazing over and a small reflection of the flames could be seen in them. He was home and so he was at peace, he couldn’t claim to be wholly content knowing that he would soon have to return to St Petersburg in six months, but in this moment, he was just glad to be back in his own country surrounded by familiar faces.  
Vaino had spent most of his life living under Swedish or Russian rule, despite both of them being at odds with one another, he was a territory that they had fought over, like dogs over a scraps, it infuriated him how he was dehumanised and his wishes were ignored by the both of them. He was as human as they were despite not speaking in similar tongue and believing in his own gods rather than theirs, differences didn’t mean a person was any less human.  
Still, he kept a hold of the hazy memories he shared with a particular swede, someone he had had a rocky relationship with, in the most diplomatic terms, and was relatively reluctant to call more than a friend.  
Although, he often pondered the thought of taking up a correspondence again with him again, he wanted to speak to him and catch news of what was going on in the outside world, to know that he still remembered him as he was before he had to leave. His face, his voice, his presence, he didn’t want to be forgotten.  
The only news he received these days was what he was informed about in St Petersburg or from the town near his home, though he knew better than to trust it all, it wasn’t only the wives that were guilty of weaving equivocal stories.  
But if he was caught, should his letters be intercepted, then the consequences might not even be worth the ‘crime’. He knew the other could hardly understand anything more than very basic Finnish, something Vaino was critical of given how long they had known each other for, but a letter in Swedish would certainly draw some unwanted attention. He wanted turn this thought over in his mind and let it sit for a while, stagnate and dissolve if he was lucky, it would spare him the worry if he didn’t bother picking up a quill.  
‘The wars ended 4 years ago’ he told himself, he knew that if any time was the right time to send a letter it would be now, tensions had eased slightly and with it so had the chances of his post being intercepted. There would still be a risk with sending it but he believed that if there was to be any punishment for contacting Alexander then the punishment would simply be that Vaino would have to remain by Ivan’s side permanently, rather than being allowed respite in the form of six months to return home, after all, being parted from his home seemed to be worst thing that could happen.  
Even then, would find a way back home if that happened, Vaino always did, he was tied to the land and proved to be exceptionally resilient in character, Ivan wouldn’t dare take away the last bits of freedom he had allowed the Finn, there would be an uproar and he knew it. Crossing Vaino was something that Ivan was reluctant to do, despite his jovial tone and kind nature, he knew looks could be deceiving.  
After several minutes of thought Vaino eventually came to the conclusion he had originally wanted to avoid.  
“I have six months to write it, its best I make this good” he murmured to himself, a tender smile lighting up his features. 

“Kristjan? Hey kiddo, where are you?” a voice called from the entrance, its pitch low but its tone uplifting.  
Stood at the bottom of the grand staircase was Magnus, dressed in his traditional red military uniform with sashes of white sewn across the front and flourishes of gold buttons stitched here and there. He was the epitome of what the Danish military tried to project to its soldiers, able bodied and well turned out with a face that was appealing to the eye.  
“Come on Kris, the parade will be starting shortly! Maybe we can play another game of hide and seek later?” Magnus added, his voice resonating through the foyer.  
After receiving no reply, the Dane hurried up the stairs, holding onto the bannister so not to trip in his haste, and wandered down the corridors calling out to him, hoping that he would get a reply. It only took him a couple of seconds to realise that, in fact, Kristjan wasn’t out of ear shot, just that probably didn’t want to be found. Magnus had an inkling of where he might be, he would have liked to have said it was a sixth sense but in actuality it was more of reoccurrence. He made his way up several flights of stairs, his breathing coming in inconsistent ‘huffs’ from running up the first few sets, until he finally made it to the top floor of the western wing, that was where Kris tended to tuck himself away to avoid visitors when he didn’t want to make conversation.  
With a brief knock at the door, Magnus made his presence known before entering, shuffling into the room as quietly as his feet allowed it.  
“Kristjan? Hey, we need to go kiddo, the parade will have already started”  
With his back to the door, Kristjan sat on the window ledge, his feet hanging precariously over the edge and his head dipped forward as though he was drifting in and out of consciousness. The wind caught some of his white locks, blowing them away from his face so Magnus was able to see, after he drew slightly closer, that he had been crying again. His skin was pale and blotchy, much like a corpse’s, and his eyes appeared to be sunken and bloodshot with a lingering sense of weariness behind them, it was a painful sight to see.  
Magnus himself had struggled with the separation from Sindre, he tried to hide it as best he could knowing that he would have to take on the role of raising Kristjan and if he showed himself to be completely distressed by it all then Kris would have no sense of stability and guidance left in his life, no one to tell him that it was all going to be okay.  
He reached out a gentle hand and placed it on the boy’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze to try and reassure him. He had to be strong and try and talk him around but as the years passed by Kris became more and more aware of the fact that Sindre may never come back making it harder and harder for Magnus to lie to him.  
“Do you think he’ll forget about us?.... Magnus?” Kristjan asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he knew if he spoke any louder his voice would surely crack.  
“Don’t be silly Kristjan-“ Magnus tried to reassure him though there seemed to be an emptiness in his tone as though his usual enthusiasm and vigour had been drained from his body “Sindre would never forget about us and especially not you. You’ll always be his little brother.”  
“He doesn’t even write to us Magnus, we’ve not heard a word from him since he left, what if he doesn’t want to remember us?” he persisted, raising his line of vision to meet the Dane’s clear blue eyes.  
“I doubt that Alexander would let him write to us, I imagine he probably has restrictions on who he is allowed to write to since he is now staying in Stockholm”  
Magnus’s brow furrowed after those words passed from his lips, that name left a particularly bitter taste in his mouth though he would have rather not expressed his overwhelming disgust and loathing for the man in front of a child whose brother was living with him.  
Pondering a thought for a moment, he released his hand from the Kristjan’s shoulder and wandered over to a desk that stood idly by one of the walls in the study, pieces of paper lay strewn across it, disorganised and covered in inky fingerprints. Picking up a blank piece and a quill, he held them both out to Kristjan with a shaky smile.  
“We could write to him, I can see that one of my men passes it on to someone working in the palace, there’s a chance it may get to him and he will at least know that we are still thinking about him and that we wish for his return!” he exclaimed, his previously nervous smile changing into one of glee “You could also send him one of your drawings, I’m sure Sindre would love it”  
After giving a slow nod in agreement, Kristjan took the quill from Magnus and twirled in between his fingers, as though he were at a lost as to what to write, though the words came to him eventually and after a couple of moments he began to scribble away, writing line after line. He had been taught on numerous occasions to keep his writing neat and clear, but, being as stubborn as he was, he decided against listening to his tutors and now his writing was an illegible but distinct scrawl, one that only Sindre and Magnus seemed to know how to read.  
The usual rosy colour steadily began to return to his pale cheeks and the Icelander seemed to be enthused by the task of writing to his brother, the corners of his lips twitching into a soft smile, it was something that filled Magnus with warmth and newfound hope.  
He too would write to Sindre, though his letters would be a little more intimate and secretive than Kristjan’s, he planned on bringing him back home even though he wasn’t sure how. Whether he would take him back peacefully or by engaging in a second lot of conflict, Magnus wasn’t certain, the only thing he knew was that the yearning feeling that lingered in his heart would not disappear until he was back by Sindre’s side.  
Yes, the great wars were over, and Europe was entering a period of fragile peace, but the Dane still felt as though there was unfinished business between himself and Alexander, he also had a sense that the feeling was indeed mutual. He just had to wait for the right time to settle it.  
For now, he would wait until Kristjan had finished writing his and then order them to be sent tomorrow, knowing that even some of the most reluctant soldiers or merchants would be willing to pass a few letters along in return for a handsome payment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter is completed! I'm still trying to get to grips with writing Finland because his character is one of the hardest for me to write but you guys have a brief introduction to him. I only just came up with the full plot idea whilst writing the end of this chapter so that shows how organised I am ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. Things are going to be kicking off next chapter with the secret letters, but hopefully this chapter was okay!

**Author's Note:**

> I think most people will know what this fic is based on! There has been some art circulating around based on the events of the early 1800s (the separation of Norway from Denmark and Finland from Sweden) so I thought it would be an interesting idea to write a story on it. The next chapter will be a bit more action based with more focus on Finland and Denmark so we can get back into the present and see where these characters go!


End file.
